


pulse through my conscience

by juncheol



Series: i warned myself [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anyways, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Organized Crime, Unresolved Romantic Tension, how the fuck is "it's about the yearning" not a tag yet, it's about the yearning, the author did not intend this to have sexual tension but what can ya do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juncheol/pseuds/juncheol
Summary: "Just promise me you'll behave yourself," Jun sighs.Seungcheol’s grin turns dangerous. "Have a punishment in mind if I don't?":::It’s an occupational hazard, this territorial need to keep Seungcheol close. That’s what Jun tells himself, anyway.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Series: i warned myself [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167560
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	pulse through my conscience

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm finally dragging out the mafia juncheol storyline after months of pondering/procrastinating!! this is something of a prologue, really just a oneshot born out of me listening to seungcheol's and jun's spotify playlists since the Real Story is still in the works. that being said, all titles are going to be from songs on their playlists.
> 
> this work's title is from ginny by sylo nozra. the lyrics and the song's vibe in general just really fit so i went with it. thank you @ seungcheol for recommending bangers. (and the series title is from jun's playlists recs, i warned myself by charlie puth. his playlists are also a1 and probably my favorite pls listen to them.)
> 
> also sidenote i finished writing this right when jun posted on twitter so we're posting this now unbeta'd bc the world demands it and i wrote this all in one sitting so i'm tired!!

There’s an itch forming in Jun’s throat the longer they stand here. He’s been against the idea since the beginning—closed events are safer, less eyes to worry about, but Seungcheol insisted on attending the exhibition. And on its first day, no less.

They’re not wearing dust masks— _don’t be so humble, Jun, it’s a museum; art is supposed to be seen here_ —and Seungcheol didn’t request for any backup, either. Jun didn’t bother arguing on that one. He knows Seungcheol avoids having to work with his father’s men whenever possible, content with Jun’s prowess to be sufficient. And that’s the problem: Seungcheol’s too relaxed about this. They’re too exposed here, too many variables that Jun can’t even begin to factor in, and all Seungcheol seems to be worrying about is getting the audio guide earbuds to fit.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Seungcheol chides, fingers playing with his transmission headset. “I paid for this, I’m allowed to complain if they make my ears hurt.”

It’s times like these that Jun remembers Seungcheol is only a year older than him. “It’s not like you even need them. Everything’s in Korean, Seungcheol. If anything, _I_ should be the one using them.”

Seungcheol makes a face. “I like listening while reading. Makes a nice atmosphere. And keeps me from listening to a certain bitching boy who likes to whine about things he refuses to use.” Junhui scoffs. “Seriously, what’s got you like this today? Art exhibitions are supposed to be fun.”

“Fun for you. I have to spend it watching you.” Not that he minds. Jun would gladly do it all day if he could. Seungcheol is a sight to behold. It’s only an issue when Jun has to worry about _other_ people’s eyes on him.

“No you don’t,” Seungcheol says. He lowers his voice as he walks ahead, forcing Jun to keep close. “This isn’t some mission, Jun. I didn’t tell anybody about today because I didn’t _want_ it to be a job. I just wanted to get away from it all for a bit.”

Jun shakes his head. He’s still confused. “Then why am I here?”

Seungcheol stares at him then, a single brow arched. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

 _Because I’m work. I’m just supposed to be work, but you keep blurring that line._ “You just said you wanted to get away from the job,” he says instead. “So I shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, but I never said I wanted to be _alone._ There’s a difference. You’re the difference.” He shifts his gaze to the oil painting in front of them. Like this, Seungcheol can’t see Jun’s expression, the way his hands fumble with his headset. “I guess it would have been fair to ask you first if you were even interested in coming here, I’m sorry. If you would rather leave, that’s fine, you can go. I’ll message you when—”

A siren starts to go off in Jun’s head when he finally registers Seungcheol’s words. “No. I can stay. Just—” Jun swallows. “Tell me what to do.”

Seungcheol looks back at him, mouth parted slightly, taken aback. Slowly, he shakes his head. His voice is quiet—gentle even. “Just keep me company, whatever that means for you.”

There are a lot of ways to interpret that. Jun isn’t stupid—he knows there’s something unspoken between them, crystallizing at the worst times for Seungcheol to brandish with an open palm. Sometimes it’s a lingering gaze, a hand brushing against his for no need, a sudden realization there’s barely any space between them. It’s a constant in their interactions, but nothing comes from it. As fast as Seungcheol gives him hope, he pulls back, retreats into his shell and remembers what Jun can never forget.

It is painful, a neverending ache that only worsens over time, but Jun is still grateful. Because he doesn’t think he could ever find it in himself to push away if Seungcheol were to finally let him in. He just doesn’t have enough strength left to, not when his thoughts are already clouded with _stay here, where I can hold your heart. Let me protect you, let me be greedy._

Jun nods and untangles the cord from his audio headset, fingers trembling slightly. He slips the buds into his ears and switches on the device. The buds pinch his ears and the voice is too scratchy to really understand, but Seungcheol is giving him that gummy smile that makes his dimples form. It’s sweet, charming, nothing like the smile of a monster.

Here in this art museum amongst quiet beauty, Seungcheol isn’t the third son of the Choi clan, isn't the remaining heir to one of the most powerful families in the country, isn't Jun’s boss and sole responsibility for existing. He’s just Seungcheol, a boy who wants to enjoy an exhibition with someone who’s willing. And Jun will always be willing.

"Just promise me you'll behave yourself," Jun sighs.

Seungcheol’s grin turns dangerous. "Have a punishment in mind if I don't?"

Jun pinches his ear in lieu of a response, rubs a palm over his nape when Seungcheol whines.

:::

“Do you like it?” Seungcheol asks from somewhere beside him.

Jun hums faintly. He reads the placard as the audio guide explains the piece in a painful chirp of static. _The8_ **,** _Healing (2020). Charcoal on canvas._ The canvas takes up about a quarter of the wall all on its own, grand in its height. It’s a drawing of two hands, one human and the other glass. Where they are touching, the glass hand begins to shatter, fine cracks lining where their fingers are laced together. It takes Jun a moment to realize the human hand is trying to pull away, its grip limp—the glass hand is the one trying to keep them together, holding tighter as its fingertips crumble into shards.

“I can see why this artist gets to have their own exhibition,” he says in awe. “It’s a little hard to believe this was all done with just charcoal. The emotion carries well.”

“Yes, but it’s a little depressing, don’t you think? The glass hand is only hurting itself by trying to keep the person close. The person isn’t hurt—they aren’t bleeding, they’re not affected by it. It would be better to let go.”

“I don’t know.” He gestures to the canvas. “The human’s trying to let go, but if they didn’t care in the first place, then why hold hands at all? I think that’s the tragedy of it—it hurts too much for the person to hold on, and it hurts too much for the glass to let go. Nobody has it easy.”

Seungcheol sighs. “Like I said—it’s depressing.”

“Love is love,” Jun murmurs. “Who knows? It’s called _Healing_ —maybe if they get past the pain, they’ll be okay. It could be hopeful.”

“Or you’re just an optimist,” Seungcheol says.

Jun turns his body to face him. “Is it wrong to be?”

Seungcheol stares up at him, gaze measured, piercing. Height has never been a problem for Jun, but here, he is small. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. “Didn’t say it was.”

There’s nobody important around. Jun could easily slip his hand into his, pull Seungcheol close until he can taste the food they had for lunch earlier on his tongue. He thinks Seungcheol would let him. In a dizzying rush, he realizes how the small distance between them must make them come off as a couple. His fingers start to tingle.

Seungcheol eventually breaks and looks away, nodding at the canvas. “I think it’d look nice in the living room. Behind the sofa.”

Jun glances at the placard, frowning. “The guide didn’t mention a price.” A hand settles on the small of his back, warm and firm. Jun can’t stop himself from shivering in time—Seungcheol doesn’t mention it, but he _is_ smirking slightly as he guides Jun to the next painting.

“You should speak quieter,” Seungcheol whispers, too close to Jun’s ear. His breath is hot on his cheek. “It’d defeat the purpose of coming back if security is already expecting it.”

“What do you—” he stops walking, eyes wide. “You want to steal it.”

The hand on his back nudges him forward, moves him a little closer to Seungcheol. “I know a forger who can get a replacement done for me in a week or two, if that’s what you’re worried about. Nobody would realize it’s gone.”

“I thought you wanted to leave work out of this,” Jun hisses, struggling not to melt into Seungcheol’s touch. “You said there was no objective today.”

“And there isn’t,” Seungcheol says simply. “But you liked the piece. So I want you to have it.”

It should make Jun feel disgusted, horrified that Seungcheol’s idea of a gift is theft. It’s wrong, and he knows it. He acknowledges it. But he also acknowledges the azaleas blooming from the dirt of his heart and making a home in the fence of his rib cage, the way his lungs shrink to make room. All he can feel is the warmth on his back, steady and anchoring.

Jun never wondered if he could handle the world they live in. Handling Seungcheol, however, is an entirely different matter.

:::

“Are you sure you’re thinking this through?”

Seungcheol pulls the hand holding his cigarette away from his mouth to stare at him properly, eyebrow raised. It’s not everyday Jun questions him like this. Today’s just full of surprises. “If you didn’t mention that one, I would’ve just picked another one. I’d been thinking about getting something for the house, anyway.”

Jun shakes his head. “But why my choice?”

“It’s your home, too,” Seungcheol says, quiet enough that it’s almost drowned out by the rain. If Jun wasn’t standing so close to him under the small protection the awning is offering them, he might not have heard him. _Our home, he thinks it's our home._ “I value your input. And I want you to have what you want.”

 _You could never give me what I want,_ Jun almost says. _One does not trade stars for pebbles._ “I didn’t realize you were so impulsive.”

Seungcheol shrugs, tendrils of smoke darkening the color of his eyes. “Impulsiveness isn’t really in my nature.”

“So how do you explain this?” Jun motions to himself. “Me.”

Another drag from his cigarette, fiery gold so close to blood red. “You weren’t an impulse decision, if that’s what you mean. Just a distraction.”

Jun wants to pull the cigarette from Seungcheol’s fingers, brush a thumb against his lips. He laughs instead. “How am _I_ a distraction?”

Seungcheol lets his hand drop to his side. He almost looks offended. Jun shifts under his gaze. He’s not good at making the first move—that’s Seungcheol’s job. All he does is follow. It’s all he’s ever known.

He eyes Seungcheol’s cigarette for a second, then holds out his palm. “Got another?”

Seungcheol frowns. “Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t. I haven’t touched one in years. But I feel like having one now.” Not really, he just needs to keep his hands and mouth busy.

“Just don’t make a habit out of asking me. It’s not good for your health,” he grumbles, fishing out the pack from his pocket and holding it open for him.

Jun rolls his eyes. “Like you’re one to talk.” He plucks out a cigarette and slips it between his lips, eyes focused on the rain in front of them. It’s gotten colder. “Pass me your lighter.”

It only takes a second for a hand to hook around Jun’s chin and tilt it, and then one more for Seungcheol’s other hand to find its way around Jun’s waist, holding him in place. Jun makes a noise in the back of throat, something probably embarrassing enough to be a squeak if his brain could actually _process things right now._ Seungcheol’s grip isn’t rough, fingers gentle on his cheek but firm on his hip. His eyes drop to Jun’s lips and Jun shivers.

Seungcheol puts his cigarette back in his mouth and leans forward to press the end of it to Jun’s. He stays there until Jun’s cigarette is lit then pulls away slightly, takes his hand off Jun’s chin to hold his own cigarette. “Say please next time.”

Something heavy pools in the pit of his stomach, hot and dizzying. It makes him stupid and hyper-aware at the same time. He sucks in a shaky breath of nicotine and rests a trembling hand on the arm still wrapped around his waist, chokes out a faint, “Yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> in my head, ten is seungcheol's forger. that isn't important but i felt the need to mention that. oh yeah and that last scene is directly from something I wrote during my free-hand exercises for fiction technique class.
> 
> anyways, kudos and comments are kinda really cool or wtvr. feel free to clown me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ahlovejun).


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